The Need To Run
by Teobi
Summary: TV-Verse. A look at Scott's thoughts as he goes for his daily run. A look at what Virgil sees when he considers his older brother. With follow ups from John, Gordon and finally Alan.
1. The Need To Run

_A/N Just a short fic this time, a quick look at Scott's thoughts as he goes for his daily run._

_Thanks to everyone for their very kind reviews of my other stories!_

The Need To Run

I have this burning need to run.

I need to run to forget, I need to run to remember. I need to run to clear my head of all the screams and shouts of anguish.

I need to run to remember who I am.

My feet splash through the lapping shoreline waves, the hard, wet sand a perfect platform for my angry strides. My legs are sore already from the hazards of the job, my head pounds like a boulder rolling unchecked down a hill.

It's only 6am, and it's already getting hot. I swipe sweat from my brow, breathe fast in jagged gasps.

I turn inland when the beach runs out. My feet propel me forward over mud tracks and soft grass, and take me past the stunted palm tree and the gravel pit. My breath is all I hear above the sound of morning birds, a swirling, angry cloud of thoughts like bees inside my head.

Only Virgil really knows how much I give a damn. By this, I mean he knows exactly what I'm thinking when we're in the field, he knows that while I look and speak and act like I'm in charge, the burden of responsibility is shared.

Without him there beside me, I'm a boat adrift at sea.

It's not easy for me to acknowledge, but I'm not as tough as people think. I'd like to be, well, heck, who wouldn't? At six foot two, I look the part, I'm not a shrimp, by any means.

But what goes on up top, in here, well, they'd be surprised, I think.

My feet pound over rocks, my calves are burning now. My shirt is damp with perspiration, clinging to my back. I can't get rid of imagery, of piles of rubble, twisted metal, broken arms and legs and frightened faces peering upwards.

I can't crack under pressure, I don't think that I'd know how. I'm trained to follow orders and to give them in return. I set my jaw and do my job, and don't let indecision cloud my view- someone has to hold their nerve while all around there's chaos breaking out.

Don't get me wrong- I love my job. Most times, I wouldn't want it any other way. But when it all goes wrong, or when injuries prove fatal, there's nothing in the world I wouldn't do if it would stop the pain.

I'm heading back towards the house- I've had enough of running now. I need to sleep, if truth be known, but sleep eludes me all the time. I'm lucky if I get one night a week where I don't wake. My dreams are full of outstretched hands, of widened fear-filled eyes and frightened shouting, and only Virgil knows I lie awake through endless hours, and pray for all those souls we couldn't save.

Only Virgil really knows how much I give a damn.


	2. The Need To Feel

I look at Scott. My older brother. I see the way his head bows low sometimes. He doesn't let his feelings show. Not the ones that break his heart. Not the ones that spill out uncontained at night when shadows fall.

He's a strong man, my brother. He holds his head up high, his shoulders squared against adversity. His eyes hold secrets that he doesn't share with anyone but me. I don't know why this is, but he and I are closer than any of the others. Without me, Scott says, he'd be lost at sea.

Without Scott, I reckon I'd be the same.

My palette would be devoid of colour. Scott's colour- that dynamic blend of red and black and blue and white...all strong, primary colours and solid shades of light and dark.

No subtlety.

And yet, Scott has subtlety beyond measure. I can see when he's listening, even when the others can't. I can see the minute movements of his head that suggest he's paying full attention when it looks like he's a world away. He doesn't miss a trick. Not a sound or word or gesture or even an inference.

He just chooses what he reacts to and what he leaves alone.

Scott pounds the shoreline every morning come rain or shine. It's his way of letting go of stress, of dealing with the things his mind can't change. He's told me of his dreams, the ones that wake him sweating in the night. There's little I can do to ease that pain except to say "I understand." I think it helps, I'm not always sure. I put my feelings down on canvas. Scott claims not to have this outlet, this level of creativity. But I am not convinced.

Scott can play a tune on the piano. He can paint a decent landscape. I've seen him do it. He thinks he can't. He thinks it means he's soft, when he's the one that always must be strong. But I've seen him paint a line of blue that's unlike any blue I've ever seen.

He just prefers to run.

And run.

And run.


	3. The Need To Understand

_The Need To Run started out just as a one-shot Scott story. But gradually I'm adding the other boys, with thoughts and musings of their own. This time it's John. _

_####_

I've always been a little distant I guess. 'Mysterious', Penny calls me. 'Detached', says Virgil. 'Plain weird', says Gordon.

Doesn't bother me. I like it up here. I like the stars, the meteor showers, the distant comets like silent friends waving. I get all the company I need from the low resonant hum of the universe.

Ever heard that song? Listen one night when it's calm and quiet. The message is clear.

That song reverberates through everyone. It binds us together with those stars and those comets. Our hearts follow its rhythm.

It says-

_What each one does affects us all._

I know how Virgil worries about Scott. Those two are close- closer than I am to any of them. It's like being stuck in the middle of two married couples, with them on one side and the Terrible Two on the other. But I'm fine with it. I watch my stars and I see the way things work. Scott's the Sun, the centre, and Virgil's his Earth, in constant orbit. Or maybe Venus, depending on what mood he's in.

Which I suppose makes me Mercury, the winged messenger, all the way up here in my space cocoon with my little silver microphone. Gordon I guess would be Neptune, although that's really for the watery name- he's not at all like that distant, faraway planet, if anything he's in your face ALL the time. And if we're going to take these heavenly comparisons to their logical conclusion- and we may as well, we've gotten this far- then Alan would be a rogue asteroid. You just don't know what he's going to collide with next.

So, I've digressed again, as usual. Solitude does that to you, gives you plenty of time to think.

The point I'm trying to make is, we all orbit Scott to some degree. Alan's course may be erratic and unpredictable at times, but he's still bound by Scott's irresistible gravity.

Virgil, though. I fear that one day he'll burn. Not for a long time yet- he's his own guy, he orbits and orbits and does his own thing. But one day Scott will go supernova. And woe betide Virgil if it happens on a day when he's too close.

So I hear you thinking. What the hell is Johnny talking about. Why doesn't he just come out with it. What is he trying to say, anyway.

Just this. Like I said before.

_What each one does affects us all._

I don't know how to put it any other way.


	4. The Need To Experience

_Gordon has his turn now._

_To Bella Regazza, who is writing the wonderful 'XOXO Your Juliette' (and I hope will update **soon**!) the hospital bed scene is for you. _

_####_

There's a running joke in this family that I have water in my blood. I can't recall who started it- dad, I think. But whenever I hear it my standard response is, _"unlike Scott, who has whisky in his_ _blood!"_ Cue laughter. Lots of it.

Scott doesn't have a drinking problem, we just pretend that he has. Oh, the mileage we get out of one little shot of Jameson after dinner. "_Look_ _out guys, the top's off!" "He's found the secret stash!" _He grumbles and gives it the old "For Pete's sake" routine, but if we didn't pull his chain now and then he'd think there was something wrong.

Besides, he'd miss it.

The definition of cliché is something like, hackneyed expression or idea. Meaning done to all death and back a million times over. Yawn. So if I say Scott is my rock, you'll just be thinking "well, that means nothing. That's like saying you were 'devastated' when your favourite vase broke. It's an overcooked statement."

But in this case it's not. A rock is a pretty immoveable object in my humble opinion. When I was in the hospital, Scott planted himself like a rock at my bedside. _"I wasn't gonna let you die now, was_ _I kid?"_ He said in his typical 'what's the big deal' voice, like when he won't accept thanks from people he's saved.

But I know what that accident did to me. I know I was lucky to escape with my life. I've watched old footage of Donald Campbell and _Bluebird _enough times to know how different it could all have been.

So when I'm operating Thunderbird 4 in the inky depths of the ocean- and lemme tell you, those depths are _inky_- the pressure of all that water around me can sometimes make me feel _just_ a little bit wary. Then all it takes is for Scott's voice to come through and it's like instant relief. Like he's in there with me. He knows what it's like. He knows what to say. He knows my secret fears, because he's there. He's always there. He's always _been_ there. His eyes, his voice, his strength, his support, his gruff, good-natured acceptance of our ceaseless childish ribbing.

There was never a time in my life when there wasn't my eldest brother, with his tenacious courage, his dogged calm, his refusal to give up, his constant striving to do better- for himself, and for the people around him that he loves.

Water in my blood? Hell, I've got _you_ in my blood, Scott Tracy. And you know what? Gordon Tracy is a damned better man for it.


	5. The Need To Be

_Alan gets criticised for being precocious, but maybe there's a reason for that..._

_####_

I'm the 'baby' of the family. No matter what I do, I'll always be the baby. Little Alan, let's all have a good laugh. Let's see how far we can push little Alan today. Sure it pisses me off royally. What can I do? If I say anything it just makes them worse. So I'm an astronaut and a champion race car driver at the age of 21. It's not like I'm a child prodigy for Gosh sakes. I can't speak languages like John, I can't play Tchaikovsky concertos at the drop of a hat like Virgil. I just had the opportunity to do a few things that other guys my age don't get to do.

Sure I can pilot Thunderbird 1, but so can all the guys. John- _John_ of all people- itches to get into that baby sometimes. John gets the urge to go fast just for the sense of freedom it gives him, and no-one ever gives him a hard time. I pilot Scott's crate when I get _asked_. I don't take it for blasted joyrides.

Why do I even feel the need to defend myself?

I'm sorry I was born last. I'm sorry for what happened to mom. I'm sorry for all of that, but I can't change any of it. I can't change one thing. Don't you think I would if I could? Don't you think I'd give anything to have known my mother? I haven't got a single memory. Not one. She couldn't even stick around that long. Dammit mom.

Okay- I'll admit it. I'm an Angry Young Man. Not all the time, but I'm aware of it and I don't like it. What gets me going is this.

Scott had mom for nine years. Nine years is almost a decade. He can talk about the time she drove him to the hospital for stitches in his knee after he fell out of a tree house. How she stood in A&E and bawled at someone to come take care of her boy before he bled to death. I wish I had a memory like that. Dad has been the best dad any guy could want, but dad can wave his money to get noticed if he has to. I never had a mom to protect and defend me the way that only a mom can, with the fierce persistence and devotion of a lioness with her cubs.

Scott had a mom. Scott had a mom_ and_ a dad and little brothers who adored him and maybe he even had his own goddamned dog who followed him around and worshipped him too. Scott had everything he needed.

Sometimes I hate you, Scott, but it's not real hate. It's just an irrational feeling of bitter frustration that you had the chance to know her and I didn't. But I love you too, and get this, for exactly the same reason. Isn't that something? It's a terrible position to be in. If I could just _be _you, that would solve all my stupid problems in one go. But I can't be you. I wouldn't even know _how_ to be you. You're my role model, but I can't spend my whole life trying to be you, no matter how extraordinary you are. I need to try to be _me_.

If only I didn't have to try so hard.


End file.
